Whose Soul is Worth the Tempter's Lure
by This Ship Won't Sink
Summary: Harry wakes up to Draco Malfoy sitting at his kitchen table, finishing off his breakfast cereal. This is weird for two reasons. Harry is certain that when he went to sleep last night he was alone, and Draco Malfoy has been dead for three years.
1. And Only To Contrast My Gloom

Harry sat up with a start, his heart beating roughly in his chest. Running a distressed hand through his hair, he allowed himself a moment of despair before reaching for the spectacles on the bedside table. The nightmares were always the same, he thought darkly. Five years of watching his loved ones dying under Voldemort's hand, tortured and maimed, calling out to him. Five years of watching the bodies pile up as he sat there powerless to help, five years of his loved ones and his own guilt haunting him every time he closed his eyes. The nightly display had started with Sirius in his fifth year, and despite potions and Mind Healers and even a desperate visit to a Muggle therapist, the only part of the nightmares that had changed over the years was who he saw die. Tonks and Remus had quickly joined Sirius after the end of the war, along with Fred, Mad Eye Moody, Dumbledore, Hedwig… One thing he had no shortage of was loved ones to mourn. In fact, as the years passed he found that his loved ones numbered more among the dead than the living. Harry shook his head, trying to clear the maudlin thoughts from his mind.

As he caught his breath and calmed his pounding heart, he felt a sharp tingling wash through his body, a sensation that could not be explained away by nightmares, and at once his wand was in his hand. Years of experience told him that this could only mean one thing- someone had breached the extensive wards protecting his flat. His guard up, he moved stealthily from his room and down the hall, casting detection charms as he went to check for intruders hiding under Disillusionments. He found nothing until he reached his kitchen and saw a sight he'd never expected to see, even allowing for all of the weird things that found their way into his life just because he was Harry Potter…

Draco Malfoy was sitting at his kitchen table, looking unhurried and content, eating his way through Harry's Cocoa Krispies.

* * *

Draco spooned another mouthful of chocolatey goodness into his mouth, refusing to let Potter's appearance startle him into speaking first. He kept his movements calm and his hands visible, though he had to fight the urge to squirm in his seat under the weight of other man's gaze- he remembered Potter's quickness to strike when he deemed it necessary, and he had no desire to be cursed for eating cereal. He was quite certain the brunet had more valid reasons to curse him, truthfully. Besides, squirming was undignified, and one thing Draco still had left in the years since the war was his dignity.

As he ate, he discreetly checked the brunet out, noting the changes and the unchanged with approval. Potter had grown up well, he observed, his shoulders broader and his posture improved by the addition of a hard-earned confidence. The hand that held his wand aloft did not shake, and no signs of panic or uncertainty graced his face. Of course, his hair was still wild, and his eyes wilder still, but he'd achieved a grace and maturity that was almost completely unaffected by the fact that he was wearing only pants and his glasses. He looked every bit the Hero he didn't want to be.

Draco looked down at the bowl for a moment, then cast his eyes back up to the other man, noticing things he hadn't in first perusal. He found, with reluctant dismay, that Potter did look a bit worse for wear. His ribs seemed more prominent than Draco would prefer, and the wild green eyes that he had just admired appeared positively haunted at closer inspection. Fighting down concern, he abandoned his original plan to wait for the other to break first. Putting on a casual air he couldn't claim genuinely as his own, he pushed the bowl aside and spoke.

"Are you mad?"

* * *

Harry stood in the doorway, wand in hand, staring in shock at the man in his kitchen. He took a deep breath, dismissing the emotions that swelled in him at the unexpected sight, and cast a series of quick charms to detect Glamours, Polyjuice, and other disguises. As each spell came back negative, Harry was forced to face a painful truth. _Draco Malfoy was sitting at his kitchen table._

He could feel the blood rushing in his head as he looked the other man over, noting that he didn't seem to be in bad shape. His pale hair hung loosely around his face, long strands framing a face that had only grown more sculpted and refined since Hogwarts. A wand rested on the table next to the cereal box, and Harry was reluctantly impressed by the Slytherin's willingness to appear unarmed in his home. Raising a hand to tug roughly at a tuft of dark hair, he felt a rush of frustration, pain, and anger building inside, feelings that he had been suppressing for years. Desperately, he fought to replace the overwhelming emotions with a coldness he could maintain until he'd heard the explanation he was owed.

As if the blond could sense that Harry was running out of patience, he pushed the cereal bowl forwards on the table and made eye contact. Harry felt a shiver run through his body as he looked into the familiar grey eyes, and immediately cursed himself for the weakness it implied. Draco Malfoy had no right to affect him like that, he reminded himself, not anymore. He crossed his arms and obstinately remained silent. After a few moments that stretched between them endlessly enough to feel like hours, Malfoy finally spoke.

"Are you mad?" He put his arms on the table in front of him and crossed them casually. His voice was calm, politely interested. His composure drove Harry a bit mad. Making his voice steady and deceptively pleasant, Harry spoke the first words he'd said to the man in years.

"Mad? Why would I be mad? You only ate all my cereal and faked your own death for three years."


	2. That With the Spurn of Their Farewell

_"Are you mad?" He put his arms on the table in front of him and crossed them casually. His voice was calm, politely interested. His composure drove Harry a bit mad. Making his voice steady and deceptively pleasant, Harry spoke the first words he'd said to the man in years._

 _"Mad? Why would I be mad? You only ate all my cereal and faked your own death for three years."_

* * *

"Hmm." Draco clasped his hands loosely on the table in front of him and gave the Gryffindor a bland look. Under the table, he crossed his ankles, an affectation that looked casual but was designed to prevent him from tapping his foot much in the same way an irritated cat flicks its tail. He refused to show the other man how much effort it took him to appear disinterested. He refused to be that vulnerable to him ever again. "I might have done. But tell me this, Potter. Did you ever even look for me?"

Potter still looked good angry, he noted with almost clinical detachment. His cheeks and bare chest flushing from the force of his feelings made a stirring image. His hand, still clasped around his wand, trembled slightly, betraying the depth of the emotion and the contained power he knew the other man possessed. He could tell that he had learned to control his emotions to at least some degree in the past three years, though. When he had known Potter, or at least thought he knew him, the brunet would have been up and pacing by now, hands tugging at his hair and gesturing wildly, voice loud as he argued his innocence. Raising one eyebrow, Draco waited for the other man to respond.

"How could you even ask me that?" Potter demanded in a harsh whisper, breaking the silence. "How?"

"It's only that you didn't seem very concerned with finding me," Draco spoke coolly, maintaining eye contact with the emerald green that shone compellingly in the other man's face. Before, that would have distracted him from his anger, but this wasn't before. "In fact, by the time I awoke from the magical coma, you'd moved on with the Weaselette and started up your own happy little family and the precious career you'd never wanted." His memories of that particular discovery burned at the back of his throat like bile. Now he let some of the bitterness he'd acquired in the last three years shine through, making his words sharp and pointed, meant to tear and scar. Let Potter feel some of the sting he'd lived with for the past three years. He hoped he choked on it. "You'd moved on remarkably quickly, you know. You held me, and made promises to me, and pretended to love me. You let me make myself vulnerable to you. Was it all just meant to be revenge for a schoolboy slight? 'Make Malfoy fall for me, then I'll show him how unworthy the affections of the Savior he really is?' Really, Potter, I'm not sure what right you have to be angry when you've done the most wrong."

* * *

Harry stared at Malfoy as emotions hit him in rapid sequence, the bitter tone striking him in unexpected waves. The joy at hearing him speak again, the sadness that had consumed him in the years since he'd last seen him, the anger at what he said. The nerve of him! How could he say that Harry hadn't looked for him, hadn't loved him, when he'd spent so much time wanting and mourning and… wait. "Magical coma?" He eyed the Slytherin critically, knowing that he wasn't above dishonesty when it promised personal gain, but the other man appeared genuine. Everything from the raw anger and hurt in the stormy grey eyes to the falsely casual clasp of his hands on the table belied the idea of a false tale.

Of course, he hadn't had much of a chance to study the blond lately to learn about how he chose to show his emotions, and seeing him alive after three years of believing him dead did rather damage his trust in anything he might say or do. Still, Harry admitted to himself, there was nothing, not even so much as a subtle change in breathing to indicate falsehood.

In fact, Malfoy appeared almost as cold as he had when Harry had thought he looked upon his lover's dead body. Rather than heaving with emotion, his breathing had slowed enough to become practically unnoticeable. His lips had pressed together tightly enough to turn white, and his skin had become even more pale. Overall, the impression he gave off was positively glacial. With a sigh, Harry moved closer to the table, taking a seat opposite Malfoy. This promised to be a long conversation, and Harry wanted to be as comfortable physically as he could. He doubted anything about the confrontation would be emotionally comfortable.

The other man glared across the table at him, and Harry felt another sharp pang in his chest at the emotion behind his expression. Even knowing that he'd mourned for three years in vain, he was still vulnerable to the man's feelings, he realized. He would have to remember that, to keep himself from being manipulated by it. Heart beating roughly, he waited for an explanation.

Fortunately, the blond seemed very willing to give that explanation. The weight of the words made it clear that he'd waited a long while to give it.

"After the spell hit me, I fell. I awoke a few weeks later in a safe place. Just in time to read the headlines announcing your engagement to the Weasley bint, incidentally. And your new career as a spokesperson for the Ministry, of course. And now here I am. Your turn, Potter. Let's have that explanation."

"I thought you were dead." Harry said softly, fighting the temptation to reach across the table and take the other man's hand. He'd likely get nothing more than a hex for his trouble. Instead, he held onto the edge of the table with a tight grip, anchoring himself to hear more.

Malfoy let out an inelegant snort before responding tartly. "Yes, that _would_ explain why you accused me of faking my own death. And of course, I saw my name on the lists of 'dearly departed Death Eaters' the Profit published. Bloodthirsty rag. It was so good to read how much I was missed, what with everyone feeling deprived of a chance to send me away or have me Kissed." _Like my parents,_ the silence between them seemed to say. _Like my friends, my classmates._

Harry looked at him steadily. "If I'd known you were alive, I would have stopped at nothing to find you. I never would have stopped looking. I swear it." His voice didn't waver, but inside his emotions were in turmoil. Could he have tried harder? Was there a clue he had missed? Had the past three years been avoidable? He shook his head to dismiss the thoughts, then focused on the blond, who had begun to speak again. His voice had gone soft, deadly.

"But that didn't stop you from moving on immediately. Tell me, _Harry_ , did you ever really want me? Or was I just a placeholder, a convenient bed warmer to keep you satisfied until you could end the war and settle down with the littlest Weasley?"

Harry shoved back his chair angrily, letting it crash to the floor behind him as he sprang to his feet. "I would _never_ use you like that, Draco! Do you have any idea how hard the past few years have been for me? Do you have any idea how much I've missed you?"

* * *

Draco eyed Potter critically for a moment. There was the tension he expected from a mid-confrontation Harry Potter. Privately, he was comforted by the return to the man he had known. Thought that he knew? He didn't see any signs of a lie, he decided. Then again, he hadn't seen any signs that the Gryffindor lusted after his ex-girlfriend while they shared a bed either. "I am intimately aware of how difficult the past few years have been, Potter, believe me. Would you like to hear just how enjoyable my life has been since my death?"

The brunet nodded mutely, adopting an earnest expression that infuriated Draco in old, familiar ways. Ready to see it disappear, he dove forward into his story.

"Let's go back, then…"


	3. Of Trustful Inexperience

_The brunet nodded mutely, adopting an earnest expression that infuriated Draco in old, familiar ways. Ready to see it disappear, he dove forward into his story._

 _"_ _Let's go back, then…"_

 ** _3 years, 1 day previous._**

Draco let out a satisfied sigh as he stretched, relaxing his body to snuggle back into the warmth beside him. The movement had emphasized the way his body felt, exhausted and sore in the most delicious ways. He tucked his head into his lover's neck, pressing a kiss into the damp skin he found there and relishing the frantic heartbeat he could feel as well as hear. He held up his left hand, admiring the way the light shone from his ring finger in the faint firelight that lit the room.

A strong, tanned hand took his, causing a smile to steal across his face. Harry kissed his fingers, then pressed his lover's hand against his own chest, cradling it there. Turning his head slightly, he looked down at the blond. Draco felt the familiar warmth that always came with the force of Harry's gaze, the pleasure of being the center of his attention and the private acknowledgement that the Gryffindor was the center of his universe in return. He had never imagined being this vulnerable to another human. It went against everything he'd been raised to be, every tenant of Slytherin cunning, and every lesson he'd learned at his father's hand, but somehow it felt more right than any controlled façade he could have practiced. Allowing those emotions to show in his expression, he met the emerald eyes and waited for the expected soppiness that usually followed their lovemaking.

Instead, he heard something that made him freeze.

"I want you to stay behind tomorrow. Somewhere safe. I want you far away from the battle." Harry said, running a hand gently through blond hair as though he thought Draco could be coaxed into seeing things his way if he was gentle enough. "I really thing that would be best." His words were confident, unfaltering, but his hand trembled slightly as he moved it over the silver strands.

He must not know me as well as he thinks he does, Draco thought to himself. He moved his hand to intercept the one stroking him, refusing to be distracted. There would be time enough for petting once he'd cured the other man of this idea. "You don't want me by your side? You don't trust me at your back? What is it, Potter?"

Harry sighed, sitting up and pulling Draco into a sitting position with him. "It's not that. I just… I have to know that you're safe. I can't walk into this battle knowing that you might be in danger. I have to focus on Him."

"So I'm a distraction." It wasn't stated as a question, but Harry, smart Gryffindor that he was, picked up on the dangerous tone and answered as though it was.

"Of course you are, in the best way. I can't think of anything else when you're near but your pleasure and safety. How am I supposed to take my eyes off of you long enough to finish Voldemort? He isn't half as pleasant to look at, you know."

Draco allowed himself to be mollified slightly, taking the compliment even as he sensed the attempt to diffuse his anger. "How do you think I would feel, letting you go off into danger and knowing I wasn't there to watch your back?" He let his emotions show plainly on his face. Before Harry, he'd never allowed himself to be vulnerable in this way, but perhaps having a Gryffindor lover had rubbed off on him in more ways than one. When they were alone, he found that he _wanted_ to open up to Harry, to share his soul with him. He still hadn't decided whether that was more of a strength or a weakness, but he found himself leaning towards the first when he saw how his honestly affected the other man. He laid a hand on Harry's cheek, cradling his face in his palm, and waited for his next argument.

"Draco… It just isn't safe. You know that. You'd have curses flying at you from both sides. I _need_ to know that you're safe. I don't ask for much, but I am asking that you stay behind tomorrow. So that we can have the rest of our lives to never leave each other behind again. _Please._ " The brunet's earnest, pleading expression was one that at once compelled and exasperated Draco. He considered it to be the man's most Gryffindor expression, but now that he'd come to love him, he no longer felt the desire to mock him for it. Mostly.

Truthfully, although Draco wanted badly to be there to watch his lover's back and revolted at the idea that he wouldn't be able to protect himself enough to be an asset, he was touched that the other cared so much as to want to protect him in this way. It was so very _Harry._ Assume all the risk, keeping his loved ones far from the conflict. He was very glad to find himself counted among those loved ones, whatever else he may be feeling at the moment.

He pressed a kiss to Harry's shoulder, moving along his collarbone to bite gently at his neck. When Harry let his head fall back in quiet supplication, baring his neck further, Draco crawled into his lap and set about marking him with dark lovebites that made him writhe.

Under the weight of their passion, it completely slipped the brunet's mind that his lover had never agreed to his plan. Draco only felt a little bit guilty about the deception.


End file.
